Righteous Man (Sequel to Good Little Soldier)
by racetrackhigginsofficial
Summary: It's been years since since Dean got the call that John had died in prison. And except for a few scars left from John's abuse, Dean has recovered. He Cas and Sam have built a life for themselves and things are finally okay. Okay, that is, until John Winchester shows up at the bunker door. Rated for language and mentions of past child abuse, rape, and self harm.[DISCONTINUED]
1. Life in the Dreamhouse

Righteous Man-Chapter One- Life in the Dreamhouse

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, destiel would be canon and Charlie, Kevin, and Bobby would still be regular characters. Obviously I don't own it.**

 **Wow guys I not only finished Good Little Soldier, but it now has a sequel. I actually can't believe this. Thank you all for loving the original enough to constitute a second episode, like seriously. Also, shoutout to my gf, because 1 she is awesome, and 2 she is obsessed with Barbie Life in the Dreamhouse because I'm pretty sure she is secretly a seven year old posing as a fourteen year old.**

 **Anyway, I'm not going to post trigger warnings at the beginnings of chapters anymore, because basically all the same ones apply to all the chapters. So, if you read Good Little Soldier, it's exactly the same with more cussing. If you're new, there's a lot of child abuse and a little self-harm and the occasional suicide. Basically it's every abusive John Winchester fanfic ever. Enjoy.**

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 _Twelve years ago:_

 _It was three in the morning when the phone rang. And that was nothing new; I'd been up all night answering the wall of landlines in the kitchen. You get to be a pretty good voice actor when you have to go from FBI supervisor to chief of police to concerned parent in the space of ten minutes. And it's a good way to spend a night. Better than sleeping, anyhow. Bobby and I trade off. So when the phone rang, it was probably just another hunter._

 _"Homeland security," I'd said gruffly into the receiver._

 _"Dean." The voice on the other end was deeper than I remembered it._

 _"Sammy! How's college?"_

 _I'd heard a muffled sigh, and the sounds of a car being pulled over. "My dorm burned down," he'd mumbled._

 _"Not good, then. What happened? Is your stuff okay?" I looked around for something loud enough to wake Bobby up._

 _"No, you don't get it. I…"_

 _"Sammy, are you crying?"_

 _"My dorm burned down because of the thing that killed Mom."_

 _I knock over a chair and kick it across the room. "What the fuck? How do you know?"_

 _"Because Jess was on the ceiling."_

 _"Jesus christ."_

 _"I'm half an hour away."_

 _Bobby walks in and glares at me. I barely notice. "What are you going to do? You've gotta go back to Stanford at some point."_

 _"No, I don't. I've gotta find this thing and kill it."_

 _My heart skips a beat. And then another. "Sam. No." I'm not dealing with another Dad. I can't deal with another Dad. Sam. No._

 _"I'm half an hour away."_

 _"You said that already."_

 _"She's fucking dead, Dean. And it's Yellow-Eyes' fault."_

 _I bite my lip and stare at the floor between Bobby and me. "Sam… look, I'm sorry about Jess. But getting back into hunting because she's gone? How insane do you have to be?"_

 _"Actually I feel a lot more sane than I have in a while."_

 _The line goes dead._

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Present Day:

I'm pretty sure Cas, who is the only one who doesn't need sleep, is the only one with a regular sleeping schedule in the bunker. Because I know Sam almost never sleeps, and when I wake up at noon Cas' side of the bed is always made. He always does that, and then if I don't make my side he always comes in at some point during the day and fixes it. I look over at his perfectly made side of the bed, then past it to the trench coat thrown over the chair in the corner.

Sometimes I try and remember when this happened. When I started thinking of that side of the bed as Cas' side of the bed, when he started wearing my t-shirts to bed and I stopped being able to sleep without his fingers twisted around mine. It's kind of like that, how seamlessly our lives have intertwined, like holding hands. I smile a little and run my hand over the smooth sheets on his side. A lot of shit's happened to me, to both of us, and it's too damn hard to believe it was all worth it sometimes. Right now it doesn't seem very hard.

If anyone made breakfast they either ate it all or gave up and threw it out, because the kitchen is basically empty. And obviously no one's gone grocery shopping in a while. I stare at the almost-bare shelves of the fridge for a few minutes, reminding myself that it's fine, we can just go out and get some stuff today, before pouring myself a cup of coffee and walking out into the library. Sam is hunched over his laptop, probably looking for a case. I sit down next to him and look over his shoulder.

"What'd you find?" I ask, scanning over the police report he has pulled up.

"Three vics in the last week, locked rooms, no sign of forced entry. And these-" he enlarges a picture of a sigil written on a bedroom wall in blood "- were in all the houses."

"So… witchcraft? Angels? What are we looking at?"

"That's what we're gonna find out. It's a two hour drive."

"Alright. I'll pack. Where's Cas, by the way?"

Sam just shrugs and closes the laptop. "He must have left while I was still asleep."

I stare at him for a few moments, trying to figure out if he's telling the truth or not. There's two things we're both equally good at: not sleeping and lying about not sleeping. Finally I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. Lucifer happened almost five years ago; he's had time to recover, right? I think about the notebook Bobby gave me when I was fourteen, still sitting under my mattress like an ex's phone number next to a loaded gun. I wonder if Bobby gave him one, after hell.

I didn't think I was ever gonna get better. Sometimes I think maybe I didn't. But hey, I think, still staring at Sammy. Scars heal. Especially when you've got an angel who can heal them instantly.

"Dean?" Sam prompts. "You okay? You haven't blinked in, like, a minute."

I shake my head a little to clear it. "Yeah. I'm fine." I stand up and walk into the kitchen, abandoning my coffee on the table in the library.

Cas is in the kitchen, a few brown paper bags sitting on the counter next to him. His back is to me, and his hair is still sticking out in all directions after sleeping on it. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist.

"Good morning," I say, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"Technically it's good afternoon."

"Good afternoon."

He turns his head to kiss me. I might not be able to pinpoint the exact moment we became so inseparable, but I remember when this started. Mostly. It was a little after Metatron offed Naomi (and I'm constantly trying to decide which one of them was worse. Because Metatron was an ass, but he killed Naomi.). And Sam was gone. And Cas just walked into the library and told me he loved me, and I got mad because I'm an asshole, and then somehow we ended up a few inches away from each other and his eyes are really fucking blue and then it just… happened. I guess I'm just living a charmed life over here.

"Sam found a case two hours away," I say, pulling back. "You coming with us?"

He nods. "I'm going to put these away first. I went grocery shopping."

"I see that." I smile again. He always gets so proud of himself when he does normal, boring human shit like that. "I have to change," I say, walking towards my room. "Love you."

"I love you, too," Cas replies.

 _That never gets old._

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I shove a can of salt into my duffel bag and zip it closed. A door slams down the hall; Sam must be ready, too. As I walk towards the car I double check my FBI badge and put it in my pocket. Cas follows me a few seconds later, stuffing his own badge into his trench coat pocket.

"What's your name this time? Agent Bieber?" I ask with a grin.

He looks down. "Of course not…"

"This is why I'm making your fake IDs from now on."

"You use popular singer names-"

"Justin Bieber is not a singer. Trust me."

We head into the garage, where Sam is already throwing his bags into the Impala's trunk. "I call shotgun," he says loudly.

"What are you, twelve?" I reply.

"No, I'm six-foot-four and really fucking sick of cramming myself into the backseat."

"Fine. Whatever. Cas, you're in back."

"Why are you the only one who drives?"

"I don't know. Let's see: who's taken the best care of Baby?"

"Me," Sam says from the passenger seat. "You crashed this thing like fifty times. Also you basically destroyed it with a hammer once."

" _She_ is not an _it_ , Sammy. Maybe if you had some more respect I'd let you drive."

"By that logic, the laptop should be completely off-limits to you."

"The spaghetti was one time…"

"Did you pack the charger? Like I asked you to?"

"You never- I'll go get it," I groan, tossing my keys into the front seat and jogging back into the house. I have no idea where the charger is, and with all the lights off the bunker looks like a haunted house. And not like the shitty Halloween ones. Like an actual haunted house.

I finally find the charger next to one of the shelves in the library, and I'm turning around to leave when I hear something.

A doorbell.

I didn't know the bunker even had a doorbell. I didn't know anyone besides me, Sam, Cas, and a shit-ton of dead people even knew it existed. I freeze, my hand going to the gun tucked into my waistband. This can't be good.

I walk up the stairs, trying not to make too much noise on the metal steps. _Nothing good has ever come from answering a doorbell. Except for a pizza delivery guy. But that is the only exception._

It rings again. I flinch, then relax a little. It's gotta be human, or at least something closer to it than a demon or, god forbid, angel. They would just zap themselves into the library. Taking a deep breath, I open the door.

 _Freeze. No. Bad idea. No. Not real. Can't be real. No. Not happening. Not. Real. Wake. Up. No. Stop. Wakeupwakeupwakeup. Cas!_

I blink a few times. It's all I can manage to do. Then I blink a few more times. Then finally I manage to push past the rising bile and lump in my throat, and calm my breathing down enough to form words.

"D-Dad?"

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 **Only the first chapter and I've already reverted back to my evil ways. Marvelous.**

 **Please review and stuff! Sorry this was later than promised- I'll post chapter 2 before Thanksgiving, I promise.**


	2. Will I Wake Tomorrow

Righteous Man- Chapter Two- Will I Wake Tomorrow

 **Hello again! And happy thanksgiving, to the people in the states. May you have a minimal amount of arguments with relatives who have different political opinions than you. I keep going until the last minute with these updates, I'm sorry! I'm doing NaNoWriMo, and basically I have a week to write 19000 words for a different story. But I'm doing my best.**

 **So I realized I forgot to explain when it takes place (thanks to jjeess001 ) and I probably should. It's a slight AU, because the Mark of Cain happened but Amara wasn't ever released or anything. I'm gonna say it's like middle of s11 if the Darkness hadn't happened, because they know that Chuck is God. Hope that clears some things up. I know it probably doesn't.**

 **babyreaper: I am a meany, I know. And for the questions… Crowley shows up in a few chapters. That's all I'm gonna say.**

 **glitterjewel: Thank you thank you thank you!**

 **Did I say I wasn't doing trigger warnings anymore? Yes, yes I did. Okay.**

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"Dean," Dad says gruffly. "Are you going to let me in?"

I don't move. I can't. It's like my brain can't decide which horrible memory to think of first. I feel like I'm going to pass out. "Um…" I say breathlessly. "Christo."

His eyes don't change. He doesn't flinch. And I can't decide if that's worse or better than if he had.

"I'm not a demon you idiot. And I'm not here to sell knives. Let me in."

I slowly step aside to let him through the door. It's like I'm fucking thirteen all over again; I still don't know how to say no to the guy. Because that night I called the cops, that was nothing but adrenaline. That wasn't confidence, or actual rebellion, that was me wanting to protect Sam and me being terrified and me not actually thinking about what I was doing. Sometimes I can convince myself it was something else, but not when Dad is right fucking here in the bunker. I walk down the stairs after him, trying my damndest not to run out the door and all the way to Oklahoma, and head towards the garage. "I- uh- I'll be right back," I say. "Sir." That _sir_ makes me want to shoot something. Better yet, someone. Christ, I'm thirty-eight, I should be able to talk like it, at least.

I manage to make it to the garage and halfway to the car before it really hits. A lot of people say panic attacks feel like drowning. They don't. It's more like suddenly being stuck in the middle of a block of ice; there's not enough room to breathe, and it's fucking _freezing,_ and I can't _move_ , and the not being able to move makes it twice as bad because what if something attacks? Guess who's not going to do a damn thing to stop that something from killing me or Sam or Cas? Me. That's who. Did I mention I can't breathe?

I end up sitting on the floor, somehow, my head leaning against Cas' chest, gripping the collar of his trench coat until my knuckles are past white. "It's okay," he whispers.

"No, it's not. It's not. Not okay. Dad's here."

"Your father died years ago, Dean."

"Tell that to the guy in the library," I say, pushing myself away from Cas. "He's there."

I hear Sam's footsteps echo through the room as he runs back into the bunker. Cas and I wait, one of my hands still holding onto his collar. "I could've imagined it, right?" I say, mentally kicking myself for how many times my voice cracks and wavers. It's bad enough I'm acting like it; do I have to sound like I'm in middle school, too? Jesus fucking christ.

Cas doesn't say anything, just kisses my forehead and gives me a half-assed attempt at a reassuring smile. I guess I should've seen this coming. I mean, it's a well-known fact Winchesters don't die. And we haven't had an apocalypse in almost six months. So Chuck forbid I'd get a year of peace and quiet.

Sam doesn't come back for five minutes. I glance back at Cas. "You think… we should go in?"

"Maybe I should."

"I can do this," I say, working hard to keep my voice even. "Let's go."

We stand up and start towards the door. Cas reaches for my hand, and I stick mine in my pockets. The last thing I need right now is to walk into my dad holding hands with a guy. My dad, the guy who left a hunt early because he found out the connection between the vics was that they were all gay. That would just be the icing on today's shit-flavored cake.

I hear Sam long before I see him.

"... ANY RIGHT TO SHOW UP HERE AFTER EVERYTHING YOU DID? I'VE BEEN TO THE WORST PART OF HELL, AND LET ME TELL YOU THAT WAS STILL LESS THAN WHAT YOU DESERVE. YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALTZ IN HERE LIKE IT'S FUCKING FULL HOUSE AND WE'RE GOING TO BE OKAY WITH IT? HELL NO! GET OUT! I SWEAR TO-"

"Sam. Stop," I say, putting my hand on his shoulder. He turns around, the anger in his face fading to worry. "Um, Dad? This is Cas."

"I'm an angel of the Lord," he says, narrowing his eyes. "And if you lay a hand on either of them I will throw you into the Sun. Several different suns, actually. The most unthinkable torture in Hell was taught to the demons by Heaven's clumsiest student."

I can't help but smile.

Dad raises a skeptical eyebrow at Cas, then turns to me. I ball my hands into fists inside my pockets and clench my jaw, bracing myself.

"It's good to be back," he says simply. _Like he can't be bothered to say anything else to me._ I'm sure Cas notices. "Sam. You've gotten tall."

"Yep," Sam spits through gritted teeth. You could cut the tension with a machete. "It was a pleasure to see you again. Now get the fuck out."

"I can't," Dad replies, his voice easygoing and strained at the same time, somehow. "Something dropped me just outside the door. I tried walking the other direction, but either you've got one hell of a protection spell up or someone doesn't want me to leave, because I got about a hundred feet out before I hit an invisible wall. It's like that in all directions. I don't know what's going on, but I can't leave."

"Son of a bitch," I mutter. So he's real. And he can't leave. Suddenly living underground seems like a really bad idea, because the walls are getting closer and there's no windows to distract me. "I need air," I say quickly, practically sprinting past Dad and towards the door.

I blink a few times, trying to clear my head. How good were the shrinks Bobby made me go to, really, if all that work can be undone in a matter of seconds? Maybe the whole I've finally found something resembling peace thing was just a band-aid over a geyser. That's sure as hell what it feels like.

A hundred feet. That's what he said. I walk away from the door, wondering if maybe I should call Rowena or Crowley because if anyone knows why John is back from the depths of hell it'd be them. Sure enough, I hit something impassable right where he said I would. We're trapped. I'm trapped with Dad.

 _I'm trapped under Dad's grip, his free fist connecting again and again with my face, my jaw, my chest. Suddenly it stops, and he moves to stand up, laughing a little. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out whatever's coming next. "Get up," he shouts. I lay there for a few more moments, wondering if it's mercy or if it's going to lead to something worse, until he slams his hand into the wall, the noise spurring me into action. As quickly as I can with all my injuries, I push myself to my knees and move to stand up. Before I can, though, he pushes his hand down on my forehead and forces my chin up to look at him. "That's far enough, bitch," he says with a sickening grin._

"Earth to Dean," I hear someone say. I grab onto the voice and use it like a lifeline to pull me out of the memory- _Sam_.

"H-hey," I breathe.

"So we're really stuck here, aren't we?" He sticks his hand out and slams it against the barrier a few times.

"I guess."

"Are you okay? You ran out of there pretty fast. Dad actually seemed kind of worried."

"He's not. It's just an act for you and Cas. It'll drop in a few weeks."

"We're not gonna be stuck with him for that long. Either we fix this in two weeks or we blow his brains out."

I run a hand through my hair. "And if that doesn't work?"

"We get Chuck to do something."

"And if Chuck is MIA? Again?"

Sam exhales sharply, looking around. "When did you become such a pessimist?"

"When the guy who spent the last ten years of his life in prison for fucking ruining me showed up at our doorstep like he was expecting us to buy Thin Mints from him. Christ, Sam, nothing's worked in the past. Apparently, not even locking him up and letting another inmate slit his throat. And it's only a matter of time before he realizes I'm just as pathetic around him as I always was-"

"Stop. You're not."

"Yes, I am."

"Even if you are, it's not going to be like last time. You've got me, and Cas, and hell, even Crowley hates John. We're gonna figure this out, okay? He won't even come near you. I promise."

I bite my lip. It's an empty promise. Dad spent eleven years finding ways to beat me up behind people's backs- especially Sammy's. But I nod, and force a smile, and walk back inside with him. And here I was thinking I'd gotten out of hell. Ha.

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If Dad's going to act like a semi-decent human being, then I can act like I'm not about to throw up. I call a friend to handle the case for us and make up an excuse for why we can't. Sam makes dinner, and I manage to eat most of it. Dad says he doesn't remember how he got back or what Hell was like and I pretend I believe him. I show him where one of the bedrooms is- the one furthest away from mine and Cas'- and act like I don't want to lock him in there for the next two weeks. I tell him there's two beds in Cas' and my room. I tell him not much has changed since the trial, since the last time we saw each other, and I don't tell him it took me five different kinds of meds and five different therapists for me to function like a normal human being after what he did to me, and I don't tell him I dropped out of school because somewhere around therapist number four there were a few months when I couldn't go a day without having a mental fucking breakdown, and I don't tell him that three suicide attempts, six apocalypses, and a trip through literal Hell later I thought I would finally be able to stand up to him if I was ever given the chance but that idea is clearly trash which is exactly what I feel like standing in front of him.

And when he says: "I hope there's a way we can move past what happened."

I don't say there isn't. I just shrug and close the door that now leads to his room behind me.

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Cas is already in bed by the time I get back to our room. I quickly change into sweats and crawl into bed next to him, reaching over to turn off the light. I lay down, wondering if I can trick him into thinking I'm asleep. I probably can't. I feel like I can't do anything.

"Are you okay?" Cas asks, tracing designs on the back of my hand with his finger. "This is a big thing. John coming back. I know you won't tell me everything, but I know you have plenty reason to be-"

"Scared?"

His eyes are practically glowing, the light from the hallway reflected in them. "I didn't mean it like that. You're the bravest man I know, Dean."

"I am scared," I whisper. "I'm fucking terrified."

And then the tears come. I can count on one hand the amount of times Cas has seen me cry. And none of them have been like this. He's never seen me sob so hard my stomach turns over. He's never spent an entire hour with me curled into his chest. He's never had someone else's tears all over his t-shirt. But he acts like it's a nightly thing, this. He just wraps his arms around me and waits for it to pass.

"I love you," I say hoarsely when I can't cry anymore. It feels almost like a test. Because this is pretty close to rock bottom and I still sometimes think I'm constantly waiting for everyone to come around and admit how much they hate me.

"I love you, too," he murmurs.

I smile. "You know there's no way in hell I'm getting any sleep tonight, right?"

"Yes, you are. You're exhausted."

"Yeah, but-"

"I'll be here all night. And if you have a nightmare, or anything, I'll wake you up. Go to sleep."

I want to argue. But I'm too tired. And too warm. And I'm basically asleep as it is. "Okay," I mumble into his shirt. "I will."

And maybe he'll be gone in the morning. Maybe this was all a nightmare. That's a possibility.

Right?

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 **As always, please review, I love hearing what y'all thought. Only six days until NaNoWriMo is over, and then this will have my undivided attention, I promise.**

 **God writing destiel fluff is like taking a blanket out of the dryer.**

 **Chapter title background: lyrics from a Rent song. Tune in next time for a chapter title with lyrics from a Hamilton song! Because I'm that one drama nerd who listens exclusively to soundtracks and sings them until her entire drama class hates them! Even the teacher! Yay!**


	3. Cabinet Battle

Righteous Man- Chapter Three- Cabinet Battle

 **Like I said. Hamilton reference. I have no life.**

 **I'm so sorry for the wait! Not gonna lie, I actually just forgot this story existed for a few weeks. I've had a ton of stuff going on with dance and theater, and with the holidays, and I've been binge watching Friends, but none of those are very good excuses. I'll try and be better with updating new chapters now that my dance show is over and my next auditions aren't until January.**

 **KiaOraToGube: yes a bazillion times yes**

 **seitanspawn: oh hey I actually forgot Cas could teleport maybe because he's NEVER ON THE SHOW anymore and he's NEVER DOING COOL ANGEL STUFF ANYMORE and no I'm not salty. I seriously didn't think of that, though. Thanks!**

 **babyreaper: John is definitely faking it. And gosh I hope he doesn't get Dean alone**

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 _Fuck_.

Here I was thinking this was all some weird, twisted nightmare or the opposite of a Djinn world or anything besides reality. But I walk into the library and there he is, flipping through his notebook like it's still his, a cup of coffee on the table next to him like he has some sort of right to be here.

"Is this a normal thing now?" he asks, not even bothering to look up. "Sleeping until eleven?"

"No one's throwing me across the room at four in the morning to wake me up anymore," I reply icily.

"Jesus, Dean. It was just a question."

"Of course it was. Where's Cas?"

"He and Sam went down that hallway a few hours ago. Does this place really have a dungeon?"

I don't answer. Instead I just turn on my heel and walk in the general direction he pointed, trying to make it look like I don't want to run. The only way I'm gonna make it through this is if I stop acting like a fucking teenager around him. Maybe then I'll stop feeling like one. He probably thinks he can come back and start treating me the same way he did before the trial, and I can't let that happen. I feel like it's already happening. Control is running slightly faster than me and I'm really fucking sick of having to chase it all the time, but here I am again.

Sam and Cas are both in the dungeon. Sam's in the corner on the phone, and Cas is setting up what I can only assume is a summoning spell. They both stop what they're doing as soon as I walk in. Like I'm some five-year-old who isn't supposed to know about a death in the family. I roll my eyes and walk over to Cas, kneeling down next to him.

"How are you?" he says, his voice even lower than usual.

"Fine."

"You're not." He adds a few more things to the bowl in the middle of the pentagram he's drawn on the floor. "We're going to see what Crowley knows about… our current situation."

I stand up again. "Um, no, we're not."

"We've got to do something," Sam says, pulling away from the phone for a few seconds. "Something besides just sit here and wait for the barrier to go away, at least."

"Yeah, sure. But I think Cas is enough already without bringing the king of fucking Hell into the equation, too. I mean-" I cut myself off. Because I'm about to say _what would Dad do if he knew we were best friends with a demon_ and as soon as I say that Sam's going to get way too worried and Cas is going to get way too protective and someone is going to end up with a bullet in their head before I've even had breakfast. If I'm going to stand up to John, I realize, I'm going to have to do it by myself. Because it's a power thing. He still thinks he has all of it. But- hopefully- things have changed since the trial. I'm not his goddamn attack dog anymore. Hopefully.

"What?" Cas asks softly, pushing himself up off the floor.

"If Crowley or any of the demons had anything to do with this, don't you think he would've showed up to brag about it by now? Or at least called us himself? He doesn't exactly love being anonymous."

I hear Sam sigh loudly. "He don't answer his fucking phone. Maybe he's waiting until he has a reason to get rid of Dad."

"I don't follow." Cas tilts his head slightly. I lean over and give him a quick kiss on the forehead. How is he this adorable all the time?

Sam ignores the PDA. "Maybe he put Dad here so he can blackmail us. Like, if we have information he needs, he could trade it for throwing Dad back into whatever corner of Hell he was dragged out of."

"Yeah. Maybe. But how did he even get out?" I run my hands through my hair, suddenly very aware that John Winchester is just down the hallway, alive, and probably starting to wonder where we are.

"Reapers could possibly take a soul out of Hell," Cas supplies. "Or rogue angels. Heaven's not the best place to be fighting for at the moment."

"When has it ever been?"

He glares at me. "It used to be. But now there could be some angels turning to Hell for guidance. Theoretically, one of them could have pulled John's soul out for Crowley."

"Maybe the angels didn't have to rebel," I say.

"What?"

"You said yourself Heaven's having some problems. And as much as we all hate it, there's always someone upstairs who thinks we're gonna swoop in and save the day. Dad could just be some motivation to get off our asses and help them."

"We're not helping Heaven," Cas says with finality.

"I never said we were."

The door behind me slams open. I flinch, and I know Cas and Sam both notice, and the fact that they do pisses me off because I know that it's just going to make them even more careful around me. Like I'm surrounded by eggshells and they have to walk over ten feet of them just to get anywhere close to me. Like I'm made of glass. So maybe I kinda am, but it's thick glass, at least. Sometimes it's bulletproof.

Dad walks in and takes in the scene. I take a few subtle steps away from Cas. Because this is John Winchester. And I do enough to piss him off just by breathing. The last thing I wanna do is find out what it's like when he has some sort of reason to hate me. Cas walks back towards the table standing in the middle of the room, his hand brushing mine for half a second, his fingers lacing through mine for half a second, like I need the reminder that he's still there. It's a physical whispered I love you. I wish I didn't need it as much as I do.

"You really do have a dungeon," John says. He lets out a low whistle. "How'd you get this place?"

"Funny story, actually. Your-"

"A friend died and left it for us," I say, cutting Sam off. Yeah, he's a hunter, but the world's gotten even crazier since he died. And if we say that his dad sent us on what was basically a scavenger hunt to find the place while we were hunting down a Knight of Hell with him, I doubt Dad would believe us. And if he did, he'd probably just be mad that we know more about Henry than he does.

"Wow, Sam, you're right. That is funny. So what's all this shit for?" He gestures at the summoning spell on the floor.

"We're trying to figure out what's going on," I tell him. "We thought some demons we know might be behind it."

"Some demons you know," he repeats, rolling his eyes slightly. He takes another step towards me. "So, if you know these demons, how come they're not dead?"

"I don't know, John, when was the last time you tried to kill the King of Hell and his next of kin? Because it's not exactly a salt-and-burn. Believe me, we've tried. But until we find a way to really kill them- the King, especially- they know what's going on in Hell. It's useful."

It turns into a staring contest. I hate that he's just tall enough that I have to look up to meet his eyes. Just tall enough to give him an advantage, like he needs any. I'd always kind of hoped I'd be taller than him. That ship's sailed, though.

I don't let myself blink until I absolutely have to. The space between us turns into a dueling ground. It's one of the few times I've ever really met Dad's eyes, and it's just as terrifying as all the other times, but I've been through worse. The tension keeps growing and growing; the air is stretched tight and ready to snap. I can feel every dagger he's shooting at me, and I know he can feel the ones I'm throwing. My shoulders tense up. I almost reach back toward Cas, but this isn't the kind of thing you get to have backup for.

"Dean," Dad starts. It's the same casual, condescending tone he's always used with me. The same _you're-gonna-do-whatever-the-fuck-I-tell-you-to_ tone. I clench my fists. "Could you go get my notebook? I don't think I have this spell written down."

The tension gets tenser. "It's not that far away. I'm sure you can manage yourself."

Damnit. I couldn't just say no, could I? It's so fucking easy to say to an archangel, or the literal demon who is literally torturing me in literal hell for thirty years, but to this one pathetic excuse for a human? Can't do it. That's why he's winning. I can feel myself losing ground.

"Just do me a favor," he hisses, his lips twitching up in a half-smile.

Here's how to lose the one shred of dignity you thought you still had. Tell yourself it's because you're too damn tired to do this all day. Tell yourself this is the one time you don't make yourself say no, and nothing but no, because it still gets stuck on the tip of your tongue every time you look at him, because you can still remember how useless it was when you were younger, because you know that he takes the word _no_ and beats it into blind submission. Tell yourself that just because you throw in the towel just this once doesn't mean you're losing any progress the years away from all this convinced you that you had made. And then look away. Look the fuck away so you don't see the smile on his face when you walk towards the door and out into the library and all the way back with the notebook, the fucking notebook that had it better off than you did, because notebooks are designed to be written all over by assholes with nothing better to do but seven-year-olds are definitely not. Look the fuck away when you hand it to him, and when he says "thank you" don't dignify him with a response, because dignifying something requires that you have dignity to give away, and _oh, look at that_ , it's all gone.

I don't meet anyone's eyes for the rest of the day, because I know that the second I do I'm either going to burst into tears, or have a panic attack, or punch that person in the face no matter who it is, and I don't really feel like dealing with any of those options. And after what feels like so long I begin to wonder if we're on Hell time instead of Earth time, the day's over, and I'm staring at the ceiling in bed and realizing just how brave and idiotic I was when I was fourteen and called the cops and told Bobby everything that had ever happened to me and sat through the entire trial. Maybe that Dean was better at this than I am. I don't know.

Cas climbs into bed next to me. He starts to wrap his arms around me, and I have to pull away, because anyone touching me is the same as John Winchester touching me and fuck, it's been a day and a half and I'm already this fucking broken.

"We need to get rid of him," Cas whispers to the back of my head. "I've never seen anyone get to you this quickly."

"Yeah, well…" I sigh, staring at the blinking lights on the clock. I try and make them the only thing in the universe. It doesn't work.

"I hate him," Cas says decisively, the _t_ in _hate_ over-pronounced. "He knows all your weak spots."

"He's the one who made them my weak spots. What do you expect? Just… I'm gonna try and get some sleep. Wake me up when I have a nightmare."

"If," he tries to correct.

"When." I close my eyes and try to make the inside of my eyelids the only thing in the universe.

It doesn't work.

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 **Well, I hope that was enough to make up for the lack of updates! As always, I love seeing reviews. I legit have every one I've ever gotten archived in my email and I read them to motivate myself, because you're all hella nice and encouraging and yeah. It's nice. Anyway, I've got some big destiel stuff planned for the next few chapters, so stay tuned!**


	4. Back to Basics

Righteous Man- Chapter Four- Back to Basics

 **Okay. So. I'm really, really sorry. Here's my list of excuses for why this took way too long.**

 **-I'm in two musicals at the same time, because I'm insane, and the rehearsal schedule has been intense**

 **-Because of said intense rehearsal schedule, studying for finals took more effort than I thought it would**

 **-Because of studying and rehearsals, I was hella anxious/depressed/generally the opposite of mentally healthy and really didn't feel like writing**

 **-When I did feel like writing, I'm working on a story I'm planning on sending to publishers and editors and stuff, and my friends keep asking for one shots, and I had stories and essays for school**

 **So I hope that's enough to explain why it's taken me three months to update! I'm really sorry. This story keeps getting pushed to the back of my mind. It's top priority from now until spring break, though. Promise.**

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I'm vaguely aware that I'm in the bunker, but I'm definitely more aware of the random motel room number four-hundred-fifty-six being transposed on top of the bunker because John's here _and Martin's here and Sam's at a school dance and they're taking the hinges off the bathroom door I can tell and jesus why did I even try locking myself in here now it's gonna be worse when they do get to me and they've only got one more screw and they're in why doesn't this window open why doesn't the goddamn window open-_

"Dean."

 _Cas._

The motel room disappears completely, leaving Cas' eyes locked worriedly on mine. "Dean," he says again, less urgent than before. I nod. I'm finally catching my breath. Good. Breathing's good.

"It's getting worse," he mutters, putting his hands over mine. I slowly unclench my fingers from the bedsheets.

"What else did you expect?" I whisper. "Jesus, he's right down the hallway-"

"You're stronger than this. I've seen it. I know."

"I'm really not. You don't… I'm going back to sleep."

"I don't what?"

I take a deep breath. "You don't know everything that happened. And even if you did, you don't know what it's like. It was really bad, Cas, and it really fucked me up, probably more than the other stuff I've been through has. He's human, and it shouldn't be this hard, but it is."

He gives me an unreadable look. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

"What?"

"You're not going to be able to go back to sleep. You're just going to pretend to sleep until I get up and leave."

I give him a tired smile. "Yeah. Okay. Movie."

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Dad is in the kitchen when I get out of bed the next morning. He's really made himself at fucking home. Just casually sitting at the table, flipping through some Men of Letters case files. Drinking coffee. Like he's been here all along. Isn't there a pressure point on your wrist somewhere that keeps you from throwing up? Wish I knew where it was. Wish I didn't feel like throwing up just at the sight of Dad. Wish Dad wasn't here. Wish Dad had never existed.

"Morning," he says.

I think about not responding. He certainly doesn't deserve a response. I reply anyway.

"Hey."

He slowly sets down his cup of coffee. The rubber band between us, I thought it broke yesterday. But apparently it's only been stretched tighter. I go to pour myself a cup of coffee. He stands up, and he's taller than me, and I can feel him being taller than me a few feet behind me, and suddenly I'm not really in the mood for caffeine. I slam the coffee pot back on the counter and start to walk out of the kitchen. Before I can leave, though, he stops me.

"Dean, wait. I wanted to say… I'm sorry. For everything."

 _Could you be more specific?_ I desperately want to say. _Because that doesn't even begin to cover it. You've gotta apologize for using me as bait. You've gotta apologize for making me think I was actually worthless. You need to say you're sorry for hitting me, and raping me, and trying to kill me, and generally being a piece of shit, because for everything sounds like something on the inside of a Hallmark card and it doesn't fix a damn thing. In fact, saying what you're apologizing for probably won't fix anything, either. All it'll do is make me think that maybe there's a one percent chance you aren't completely and totally evil, you son of a bitch._

"Good to know," I say carefully, keeping my fists clenched at my sides. "Are Sam and Cas in the dungeon?"

"I want to talk."

 _I never want to talk to you again. You should be dead._ "About what?" I can't breathe again. I'm sensing a pattern.

"It was never about you, Dean. I missed your mother, and somehow I ended up blaming you."

 _Somehow meaning 'I was so drunk I actually convinced myself a four-year-old was responsible for the demonic fire that killed your wife. Speaking of, I really don't think she approves of what you did to me. Is there such a thing as post-mortem divorce? I'd file for it, if I were here. No one wants to be married to a mess like you._ "We all missed Mom," I say instead. "Still do."

"I'm trying to say that blaming you was wrong."

 _And the rest of the shit you did to me wasn't?_ "Okay. Is that all?"

"Can we let the past be in the past?"

 _No. No, there's not a chance in hell. It's not even the past for me yet. It's still the present. Because you don't know the half of what you did._ "Probably not."

"Why not?"

I almost laugh. "I'm not ready."

"It's been twelve years, Dean."

 _Twelve years, forty of which I spent in hell, and you wanna know how Alastair got me to say yes down there?_ "I've gotta go find Sam and Cas," I say.

 _You wanna know how he finally got me to say yes? He made himself look like you. So fuck off._

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Sam's hunched over his laptop, and Cas is pacing back and forth behind him. "Any news?" I ask.

"The case from two days ago was a coven," Sam mumbles. "And no, Rowena had nothing to do with it. So asking her for anything is out."

"Why would we ask her for anything? She's our last resort."

"Wouldn't Heaven be our last resort?"

"You're right. She's plan Z, then."

"Well, better start coming up with some ideas, because we're on plan Y."

"Yeah." My head is still spinning. He tried to apologize. He tried to fucking apologize 'for everything' and then he got fucking confused when I didn't accept it. How is this even real? Maybe it's not. When Sam's brain was screwed up and he thought he was still in Hell he said Lucifer told him that the fake reality he'd created couldn't be happy because then Sam wouldn't believe it was real life. And obviously there's a lot of logic behind that. Maybe that's what's happening here, but Satan or whoever's controlling my fake world got a little power-hungry and came up with something so ridiculously horrible that it's practically its own fourth-wall break. That's a stretch, I know, but it's still possible. It's more believable than Dad saying he's sorry.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Cas asks.

"What? Yeah. I'm fine. Hey, what if this is like a fake reality?"

"Like a Djinn?" Sam says.

"Or angels fucking with us. It's happened before. Why not now?"

"I feel like if you ask the question it can't be true."

"Or someone's gonna come kill us because we're becoming self-aware."

"That's not an idea. That's paranoia," Cas says, walking over to me. "I got all the files on people coming back from the dead. You take some."

I take a shaky breath and nod. At least it's a distraction.

In the end, I can't concentrate and I end up pulling my chair as close to Cas' as I can and leaning my head on his shoulder, pretending I'm reading with him. He makes me feel slightly better, more in control. Until Dad walks in, and I quickly pull away, pulling my own file off the stack and moving my chair a few inches away from Cas. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. Wondering what's wrong. I shake my head. I'm not dealing with it now. There's no way I'm dealing with it now.

"What's going on?" Dad asks, dragging a chair from the corner of the dungeon to the table set up in the middle.

Sam fixes him with the coldest glare I've ever seen on his face. And I've seen him soulless. And on demon blood. "We're trying to find a way to get your ass as far away from us as possible. Preferably back to the afterlife. Preferably hell or purgatory."

"Christ, Sammy, I was just asking."

"It's Sam."

"What?"

"Not Sammy. It's Sam."

"I've always called you-"

"Yeah, well, you lost that right a long time ago. It's fucking Sam. Do you want to help, or are you just going to sit there?"

"Give me one of those files."

Cas passes him one and wraps his foot around my ankle, giving me a small smile that Dad doesn't notice. I smile back.

"Dean," Dad says. My shoulders tense. "Just think about it."

I stare at him. He thinks I can think about it. What the hell is going on?

"Think about what?" Cas asks suspiciously.

"Nothing," I say quickly, looking back down at the case. I mean it. He can take his half-baked attempt at winning my forgiveness and shove it up his ass. Because that's what his apology means to me. That's what I was worth to him then and that's what he is worth to me now.

Nothing.

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 **So I hope this makes up for lost time! As usual, please review, I really love reviews, they are great and they make me feel super happy and every time I get one my day gets four times better, etc, etc.**


	5. High School Never Ends

Righteous Man- Chapter Five- High School Never Ends

 **Hey look, she's back, she just ate half a can of frosting, and it didn't take her three months!**

 **glitterjewel : thank you so much! Ahhhhhh!**

 **fishstick1999 : yeah, it was pretty intense after such a long break. But glad you liked it! And of course, there wasn't a chance in hell Dean would accept that bullshit. Just… no.**

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"Are you going to come out?" Cas asks, leaning against the doorframe.

"I came out to Sam like a year ago," I reply. I know that's not what he means. I know I haven't left my room in two days.

"You can't just hide in here until he leaves."

"Has anyone tried shooting him? I feel like that's an option worth exploring."

"Dean…"

"I…" I stare over his shoulder into the hallway. How the mighty have fallen. The Great Dean Winchester, hero of the century, is now scared to walk into a fucking hallway. Because of his own fucking father. That's healthy. "I'll come out in a while. Where's John?"

"The garage. He was in the library, but Sam kicked him out."

"Good for him. Give me a few more minutes, okay?"

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too." I stare at the ceiling as the door shuts behind him. "Chuck," I mutter. "If you're still up there, and if humanity's not on mute, get your ass down here and fix this." Then I push back the covers and stand up. I should probably change my clothes before I make the treacherous journey into the rest of the bunker. Sighing, I open the closet and stare at the pile of t-shirts on the floor. I pick up the cleanest one and I'm about to close the doors when I notice a box in the back corner of the closet. It's random crap that Bobby kept for Sam and me that somehow survived the fire. I don't even know why I still have it. I also don't know what's possessing me to sit on the floor and open it.

There's not that much stuff inside. An old yearbook from before I dropped out. A couple of photos of me and Sam as kids, of Mom, of Ellen and Jo. There's a folder full of Sam's old essays and shit, which I really don't know why we still have. I roll my eyes and crack open the yearbook. There's not a picture of me, because I was gone on all the picture days. I probably only actually went to school like ten weeks that entire year, which is probably one of the reasons I dropped out. I wasn't going to repeat my sophomore year three times. There's a couple signatures in the back, people I don't even remember, people who definitely don't remember me. Unless they ended up working for the FBI or something. Jesus, how many times have I been on the most wanted list? Like, four now?

I start to close the book, but it falls open to a page with a few sheets of notebook paper shoved into the spine. They're folded in half, with Bobby's address written on the blank side. I take them out and slowly unfold them, scanning the first couple lines.

 _There aren't a lot of people I could write this to, but it's not like I didn't have options. There was a kid who worked at a diner- Jimmy Novak- who showed me what would happen if I stayed silent, and what would happen if I spoke up. I could write him a letter telling him just how wrong he was. Or Sam. I could write something for Sam._

Oh, fuck.

 _And don't blame my dad, or yourself. Please, please don't blame yourself. I think this is going to be for the best. Because the things I have done, and the things that have been done to me, and the things I am capable of doing, they're not going to go away unless I do. I've spent too many sleepless nights wishing I was where I will be when you read this, and I'm so tired. I've spent so many hours running from this, and I can't keep running forever._

 _Take care of Sammy for me._

Why did I even keep this? Why the hell would I keep this?

Cas walks in. "Are you coming?" he asks quietly. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"I, uhhh…" I stare at the paper in my hands. This is way too relevant. I wrote this years and years ago. Things were just changing for the better. The last time I read this was a year or two ago, and I was fine. But Dad was dead last time I read it. And now… it's too much now.

Cas sits down next to me and pulls the paper out of my hands, scanning over it. "This is a suicide note," he says.

"No shit. It's from when I was fourteen."

"Dean, why do you still have this?"

"I don't know. I thought I got rid of it. It was shoved in an old yearbook."

He moves closer to me and puts his arm around my shoulder. "Sam's making dinner. You should come and eat with us."

"Sam can't cook."

"Well, maybe you should go help him."

"Probably. I just… I keep waiting for him to start treating me the way he used to."

"Sam and I aren't going to let him."

I lean into Cas' shoulder. "I doubt you would know if he did. He's pretty good at hiding it. But it's almost worse now. Because he showed up, and he just _assumed_ I was going to let him start again. And then I did. And it's only a matter of time before it gets worse."

"It don't. I promise."

"I don't know if I could stand up for myself. And that just pisses me off."

I stare at the note that's now in Cas' hand. I can't let it get to the point where that's the only way out again, but honestly I'm feeling pretty damn close. I was still scared enough of him when he was dead, and now he's back, and there's no way to get a break except hiding out in my room. And christ, he's going to give me shit for it the second I walk through that door, isn't he? Because he's been here the whole time. Maybe I'm in Hell. That's always a possibility, right? But Cas is here. And Cas wouldn't ever show up in my Hell unless he was pulling me out again.

"Dean?"

"Hmmm."

He holds up the note. "You're not considering this, are you?"

 _Am I? I don't even know._ "Of course not," I tell him. And I stand up before he can ask anything else. "I'm going to go help Sam with dinner." On cue, I hear a crash in the kitchen and a loud string of curses from Sam. "Obviously he needs it."

"Okay. Are you sure you're all right?"

 _No. I'm not sure about anything anymore._ "Yeah. I'm fine."

That's the first time in a long time that I've dropped the I'm fine lie on Cas. I have a feeling it's the beginning of a long string of them. I glance down at my wrist, thankfully covered by a flannel. _Guess I'm just falling back into all my old habits now._

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 **This was pretty sad, so to make it up to you here's some random facts about my cat:**

 **Her name is Theodosia and she's 6 months old.**

 **She drags this 4 foot section of rope around the house with her all the time and plays fetch with it.**

 **Her favorite show is Portlandia.**

 **I can't lay on my bedroom floor to write anymore because she falls asleep on my back, or tries to eat my laptop screen, or walks across the keyboard.**

 **She wakes me up in the middle of the night not because she's hungry, or there's something wrong. She's just an attention whore who needs constant affection.**

 **That's about it. Please review!**


	6. Narnia

Righteous Man- Chapter Six- Narnia

 **LinktoTwilight: I feel bad about leaving Sam out of the picture so much! He's honestly the best. I'm really bad at focusing on more than two or three characters, but I'm trying my best to include him more.**

 **glitterjewel: AHHH thank you so much!**

 **the one a,m, writer: good vibes received.**

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I stare into the fridge, trying to remember what I was looking for, trying to decide if I'm even actually hungry. The oven clock says it's approaching three am, but I've been up since midnight. Sleep doesn't even seem worth the effort anymore. There's hardly anything in the fridge. It's starting to occur to me that we're going to run out of food. And I know from experience how hard it is to get anyone to deliver to a suspicious bunker in the middle of nowhere- I also know from experience that if anyone is willing to, they're probably trying to kill us. Sam probably has a solution. I'll ask him tomorrow. Or, later today, I guess.

A hand brushes against my shoulder. I turn and catch it, ready to fight, but it's just Cas. Just Cas, how can I say that? There's no such thing as just Cas.

"Hey," I say hoarsely.

"Hey," he replies. "Come back to bed."

"I will in a second."

He grabs my t-shirt collar and pulls me into a kiss. " _Come back to bed,_ " he repeats, pulling away slightly, staring at me.

"When you put it like that…"

The kitchen light clicks on. I jump away from Cas and blink hard, trying to adjust to the sudden light. When I focus, I see Sam standing in the doorway, squinting at the two of us.

"Is there anywhere you two won't-"

"Hey, we're going back to our room."

He shrugs and opens a cupboard, taking out a glass. "If you say so. When are you planning on telling Dad about this?"

I sigh. "A week from never, how does that sound?"

"You don't know how he'll react."

"The man hates me, Sammy. Imagine what would happen if he had a reason."

"But-"

"It's not happening." I turn to go back to my room.

Cas takes a step towards Sammy. "Dean, he's got a point. You should at least-"

I grab his wrist and drag him behind me. "Maybe later."

"Right. Okay."

"I still don't believe you weren't planning on doing it in here," Sam calls after me.

I stick my head back through the doorway. "We already have. A few times."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Nowhere is safe, brother. Goodnight."

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 **Awkward transition because I can't write smut**

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Cas is sitting on the edge of the bed when I wake up, buttoning his shirt. I wrap my arms around his shoulder and pull him backwards, burying my face in his hair.

"Good morning," he says with a surprised laugh.

I glance at the clock. "More like good afternoon. It's almost one."

"So it is. We should go get some lunch."

"Yeah. You go, I'll be out in like half an hour."

He pushes me off so he can turn to face me. "This is about your father, isn't it?"

"If we leave at the same time-"

"He won't suspect anything, and if he did it wouldn't be the worst thing."

"It wouldn't- Cas, the only hunt he's ever left unfinished was a poltergeist in Oklahoma that Bobby killed off a few months later. And the only reason he left was because all the vics were gay. Apparently, to John Winchester, they deserved it. So don't talk to me about how it would be okay if he knew about us."

"All right. Does Sam know about that?"

I look down at my hands. "Sam doesn't know about anything." Sam knows what I accidentally told him. And Sam knows what he's managed to force out of me. So, not very much. Cas knows a little more, because I've told him about most of my nightmares, but neither of them know anything close to everything. I should find a better hiding place for that notebook. The only person besides me who ever read what's inside, who ever knew every single detail, was Bobby. And I didn't let him read it until I was twenty. Sam barely remembers living with Dad, and he definitely doesn't remember it like I do. Dad and I both spent the entire time hiding everything from him- the hunting, the being left alone for weeks at a time, the part where Dad treated me worse than shit. The only things he knows are from the very (very) limited stories he's been told. And I'm planning on keeping it that way. It's not that I think he can't handle it. I just don't know how he'd react, and now that Dad is here, I don't know what would happen to either of them if Sam got too mad. "I can't come out to him, Cas. Jesus, I can't even stand up to him."

"You'll get there. I promise."

"Sure," I say.

"I'm going to the library to help Sam. Join us when you want." He turns to get up, but suddenly grabs my arm and runs his hand along the still-healing red lines on my bicep.

"These are new," he says cautiously.

I scramble to think of something. "Yeah. I was working on the Impala a few days ago and scraped my arm against something. It's nothing, really."

He looks at me, clearly not believing it. "Okay…"

"Okay." I stare at the closet doors until he leaves.

I should tell him. I should've already told him. I should've told him before I'd even started again, but I can't. Because I'm fucking pathetic, aren't I? I fall back into bed. Maybe it's not the best idea to keep a gun under my mattress anymore. More than a little part of me is thinking I should just take it out and get rid of Dad and the thought of him once and for all. I would, if I knew where I was going. But I'm probably banned from Heaven, and I'm pretty sure most of the demons in Hell don't even want to torture me, they hate me so much. I've killed half the things in Purgatory, so even though it's probably my favorite option, I also would probably last about thirty seconds. Maybe I could just hang out with Death or something. I don't want to be a reaper, but Death is really not that bad, as far as all-powerful beings go.

I sigh and pull myself out of bed. Start to get dressed. Go eat something. Find something else to do. That's what you're supposed to do, instead of contemplating where you'd go if you died. The only t-shirts I can find are Cas'. I think he took most of mine, but I don't know where I put them. I look for a few minutes, then give up and pick one of his up off the floor.

That's when the bedroom door slams open and Sam walks in.

"Jesus christ," I say, "What are you doing?"

He doesn't reply. Just grabs my arm and pushes my sleeve up and looks at the cuts. "Working on the car, huh?" he says. He drops my arm and walks over to the bedside table, pocketing the knife in the drawer. And then the one in Cas' bedside table. Then he walks over to me and holds out his hand.

"What the fuck, Sam?"

"Dean. There's one in your pocket."

"This is bullshit."

"Yeah, it is. Hand it over."

"You're not my fucking babysitter, Sammy."

He exhales. "I feel like I have to be, since you apparently can't fucking take care of yourself."

"I'm an adult. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself around sharp objects." I take my pocket knife out of my jeans and throw it at him.

"You obviously can't. Cas and I agreed. You can't even use scissors until Dad's gone."

"Who do you think you are? My fucking life coach?"

"Your _brother_ , Dean," Sam nearly shouts. "It's one thing to start hurting yourself again, but it's another not to tell either of us, and another to get mad at me for helping you! I get it. He's here. You're scared everything's going to go back to the way it was when we were kids. But it's not. And even if it was, this-" he holds up my pocket knife "-is the absolute worst way of dealing with it. Cas is hiding the knives in the Impala, since we're obviously not going to be able to go hunting until this gets figured out. And you're gonna deal with this the same way we are. Talking, and finding a way to get out of this mess."

"I…" I raise my arms, start to say something, but let them drop at my sides again. "Fine."

"Okay. Come on. Cas made pancakes."

"Don't tell Dad about this." I hate myself even more for saying that.

"I guess there's a lot of things we're not telling Dad."

"Well, hopefully, he's not going to be around long enough for it to matter."

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 **Okay long A/N coming up but I've gotta talk about a thing**

 **So Planned Parenthood, with a few other organizations, is making this online center for LGBT+ teens, and they want to make an advisory board of LGBT+ teens to help them build it. I applied, and if you get in they pay you and it's just a phone call/ online meeting a few times a month for six to eight months. It's a really exciting thing for me and I've been telling everyone I know to apply. So here's the link to the site .org. It's a google forms thing or you can send in a video application. They're due March 20 so I'd apply pretty soon. But anyway. Just if you're gay and want to do something cool.**


	7. Moving Emotion

Righteous Man- Chapter Seven- Moving Emotion

 **Hey so I would just like to say that I fucking love Marquis de Lafayette to the point that I read his wikipedia page for fun and when one of my friends was doing a project on him I told her so many Cool Facts about him she cited me as a source on the project and he was just generally the coolest guy ever like he sailed to America disguised as a pregnant woman just to spite his father in law and he fought in two separate revolutions without getting paid and people made gloves with his face on them which really creeped him out and he named his only son Georges Washington de Lafayette there's no point to this I just love Lafayette holy fuck**

 **babyreaper: yeah, it is kinda the same situation, mostly because Dean gets caught up in this cycle and Sam and Cas don't really know how to help. Don't worry, though- things are gonna start changing soon.**

 **the one a.m. writer: if you liked the protective Sammy in the last chapter, oh boy, wait until you see this chapter.**

 **Beth Nottingham: lol that was the exact picture I had.**

 **PS- I know I don't do trigger warnings on this fic bc they were pretty established in the original, but the flashback in this chapter is not great if you're sensitive to mentioned/implied rape. Just so you know. Skip the italics if you are.**

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Into hour three of research, Sam stands up and slams his hands on the table. "Wait, guys," he says. "What room are people usually in whenever someone goes outside to see if the barrier's down?"

"Here or the kitchen," I reply, shoving one book aside to make room for another. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"What if we can leave the bunker, we just can't leave each other? Only one person ever goes outside to check. Maybe we just can't go a certain amount of space away from each other. The whole time we've been looking for a reason we can't leave the bunker, and we've got nothing. So that's probably not it."

Cas shuts the laptop. "Angel prisons did that, at one point," he supplies. "So no one could escape unless everyone escaped."

"Which means Heaven might have something to do with all this. Cross them off our help list," I say. "Let's go outside and test this out. If it works, we have some major grocery shopping to do."

Sam finds Dad and we all step outside, blinking in the sudden change of light. It would be easier to breathe out here, if Dad weren't standing next to me. All I want to do is move closer to Cas, but I can't. I feel like he's catching on. He's probably not, but that doesn't stop me from shoving my hands deeper into my pockets, definitely feeling the lack of knife in one of them, and stepping forward so I don't have to deal with either problem.

Sam's walked up to the line I spray painted where the barrier is. He holds his hand out, bracing it for impact with an invisible wall, but there's nothing there. He turns back and grins before walking almost to the end of the driveway, where what seems like another barrier stops him. Then he jogs back. "How far is that?" He asks. "That's the distance we can be from each other, I guess."

"Probably 500 feet," Dad says. "Good guess, son."

Sam pointedly rolls his eyes and continues. "As long as we don't go out of a 500-foot radius of each other, we can leave the bunker. Which means we can get groceries. And the stuff we need for that summoning spell for Crowley."

"Who says we're summoning Crowley?" I ask, at the same time that Dad says "Who the fuck is Crowley?"

"The king of Hell," Cas tells John as we walk back inside.

"More importantly, the bastard who knows where Rowena is," Sam says. "And if anyone knows a spell to get us out of this, it's Rowena."

"Isn't there someone as powerful as the wicked bitch of the west who could help?" I ask.

"Probably, at some point, but I'm guessing we killed them."

"Right. Why did we ever do that?"

Dad butts in. "Maybe because they were a fucking witch? What the hell have you three been doing while I was gone? Not hunting, apparently. When you see a monster, you fucking kill it. It's not rocket science. How do you…"

His words fade out, replaced by angry white noise. I push past him and practically sprint down the stairs. I've got to get away from him. I'm seeing red. _Not hunting._ We've got a shooting range on the lower level, and I go there. When I start to think about what I'm doing, I've emptied three guns. None of them hit the target. It's not like I was even aiming. _When you see a monster, you fucking kill it._ I turn and punch the wall next to me, ignoring the pain that shoots up my arm. I should kill him, according to that logic. What kind of father drags his kids into this kind of job and then expects them to keep on doing it after he's gone? If it weren't for Jess dying, Sam would be a lawyer in San Francisco or something and I'd've taken over Bobby's garage. Hell, Bobby would probably still be alive. It took me way to long to realize how fucking idiotic hunting is. But I do it anyway. Why? Partly because no one else is gonna do it. Mostly because Dad drilled it into me since I was four. And now he's criticizing me and Sam. I punch the wall again. We're better hunters than him. We've saved the world from a dozen different apocalypses. We've got this down to a science, and we know a helluva lot more than he ever did. And there he goes, walking over everything we've done, everything we've done because he made it seem like we didn't have any other options. I move to punch the wall again, but someone stops me. Sam.

"We're going shopping. I convinced Dad to let you drive."

"Of course I get to fucking drive. It's my fucking car. Fuck."

"You're angry."

"Yeah, I'm angry. I'm pissed. Dad keeps telling us we're bad hunters. First of all, jokes on him, the son of a bitch trained us, but we're not-"

"We're going to get rid of him. Soon. I don't like the way he's talking to us, to you, specifically. I hate it, actually. I hate it with a burning passion. I hate it to the point-"

"Sam."

"Right. The point is that, unless you're going to stand up to him, there's nothing we can do except what we're already doing. So come on. You're driving."

I want to stay here forever. Instead I follow him towards the garage.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Sam sets the last of the grocery bags down on the kitchen table and starts unloading them. He separates the shit we're using for the spell from the actual groceries. "Hey, Cas? Take these to the dungeon, will you?"

Cas glances at me. "Sure. Dean, do you want to come help me set up the spell?"

"Do you two do everything together? You're like a couple of teenage girls," Dad responds.

I clench my jaw and shake my head at Cas. "You know how to do it," I say through gritted teeth.

He gives my dad a long glare before he leaves the room.

"What's his deal?" Dad asks gruffly. "It's like he's in love with you, Dean. It's kind of pathetic."

He starts saying something else, probably talking shit about Cas, but I don't hear it. The kitchen flickers around me.

 _He slams me into the wall. "How could you disobey orders like that? It's pathetic. You're pathetic."_

Oh, no. We're not doing this here. Not with Dad around. I blink hard and grip the edge of the table, trying to anchor myself in the bunker.

"Dean?" Sam says, closing the fridge door. "Is everything alright?"

 _I start to stutter out a reply, but his fist connects with my jaw before I have the chance. The punches keep coming. I try and duck under his arm, and somehow I end up sprawled on the floor, his boots connecting with my ribs again and again._

"I… uh… I'm gonna go somewhere else." I manage to pull myself back into the present for long enough to stutter out the worst excuse ever and drag myself towards the end of the hallway before-

 _Suddenly he stops kicking me. Maybe he's done. "You look so much like your mom sometimes," he slurs, bending down to grab my shirt collar and drag me across the floor. I look at the clock sitting on the bedside table. 1:04 in the morning. The green numbers stare at me as Dad drags me all the way to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind us. He doesn't turn the lights on. Now he pushes me against the wall again, but it's different. Almost nicer, but definitely not. He runs the hand that's not holding me up through my hair. "Take your clothes off," he mutters._

 _"I don't want to," I say, glancing towards the door._

 _"Shit, Dean, just do what I tell you to."_

 _"No."_

 _He sighs, the scent of alcohol filling the small room. His hands reach under my t-shirt and pull it off before I get the chance to protest anymore. I run for the door. His hands are grabbing me and slamming my head against the tile wall, until I'm too stunned and dizzy to fight him anymore. Everything's kind of blurry now. His hands are undoing the button on my jeans. His hands are everywhere, and they're so much bigger than mine, and-_

"Dean! Hey!"

 _Sammy. The bunker._

I blink a few times as the motel bathroom fades back into the hallway of the Men of Letters bunker. I look down. Christ, do my hands always shake this hard? Probably not. I glance around. Cas is next to Sam. They're both sitting in front of me. Okay. And I'm sitting on the floor. Why am I sitting on the floor.

"Dean," Sam says again, urgently.

"Yeah. I'm here," I manage. "That was…" I run a hand over my face. It's wet. Shit, I was crying. "That wasn't great."

"Are you okay?" Sam asks.

I stare at him for a few seconds. "I am fan-fucking-tastic. I've never felt better. I'm gonna go out and run a marathon, that's how great I feel."

"Fine. Stupid question. I get it."

Cas lets go of my hand- I didn't even notice he was holding it- and stands up. "I'm going to go get you some water."

"Can you-" I stop. I sound like a fucking five-year-old. "Can you… not leave?"

"I'll go," Sam says softly.

Cas sits back down as Sam stands up and walks down the hallway. He grabs my hand again- I think he knows that's about all the physical contact I'm up for right now. We sit there in silence for a few seconds, until Dad's voice rings down the hallway, asking Sam what's going on. I flinch. "I've got the spell for summoning Crowley set up," Cas says, raising his voice a little, trying to drown out Dad's. "It's ready whenever we are. I know we were going to do it tonight, but maybe tomorrow is a better idea. You need to rest."

"It wasn't that bad," I try and convince him. He doesn't buy it. Of course he doesn't buy it; I'm sitting on a hallway floor holding my boyfriend's hand and crying. I start to say that doing the spell tomorrow is a good idea, but I'm cut off by Sam's shouting from the kitchen.

"What the hell did you just say, you fucking piece of pond scum? Let me make something clear. Dean is out there in the hallway trying to calm down from a fucking panic attack. Have you ever had one of those? I have, and let me say, it is one of the worst experiences you can have outside of hell. And after he finally got away from you, after you finally got arrested, which you completely deserved, you ambulant sack of meat, he used to have them all the time. Because of you. And this one was because of you. Not because of what happened to him in Hell- I'm pretty sure you didn't know this, but Dean's been through Hell, and Purgatory, and basically every other shitty situation you can think of. No, it's not because of the literal years of demons torturing him. It's because of _you_. Because out of all the shitty situations either of us have been through, he still thinks living with you was the shittiest. And I've gotta agree with him there. So he's out there, recovering from a _panic attack_ that you caused, because you're the only reason he even has panic attacks, because what you did to him was so fucking horrible that he's still having panic attacks, years later, and what are you doing? You're sitting here on your lazy, abusive ass calling him weak. You know who the weak one is? _It's you!_ There's a lot of things people do when their wives die. They go to grief counselling. They take a few weeks off work. They talk to their friends. But they sure as hell don't drink half a liquor store every week and drag their kids around the country hunting monsters. And they _sure as fucking hell_ don't drink half a liquor store and then hit their kids. Because why the fuck would you hit a kid? Anyway, I spent a year and a half as Lucifer's roommate, and you're still the worst thing, monster or human or angel or otherwise, that I have ever come in contact with. And what you did is still the worst thing I have ever seen something do. But Dean lived through all the shit that you threw at him, and he managed to save the planet's sorry as a few times on top of that. So don't you dare call him weak. Dean's a lot of things, and even I don't like all of them, but weak has never been on that list and never will be. Shut your fucking mouth."

I stare towards the kitchen, my jaw hanging open. Then I turn towards Cas. "Hey," I say quietly. "I've got a pretty great brother."

"I guess you do," Cas replies.

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 **Wow that was a roller coaster of emotions that I do not want to have to go through writing again. Seriously, I haven't been this tired from writing since I had to kill off an OC for my nanowrimo project. Anyway, hope you liked it! I'll update soon. In the meantime, review!**


	8. All Hail the King

Righteous Man- Chapter Eight- All Hail the King

 **Hey! So quick PSA before the normal proceedings. On past fics and this one, I've gotten reviews asking if any of the writing based on abuse, suicide, mental illness, etc was based on personal experience. Just to put everyone at ease, it's not. I put a lot of research into the stuff I write. I do have anxiety, but it's nothing near what I put the characters through.**

 **babyreaper: oh no I didn't even think about John's reaction. I kinda got caught up in ranting at him.**

 **jjeess001: don't worry about Dean and Cas breaking up the whole reason I'm writing this is to do things the show refuses to why would I ever break them up**

 **Happyhippos124: I've got some good news for you pal I'm gonna keep writing them**

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Fun fact: angels can make perfect circles. I don't actually know how, and Cas has never explained it to me, but it's sure made making Devil's Traps a helluva lot easier. Now Sam and I just have to watch as he walks around with a can of spray paint. Of course, we've got a Devil's Trap built into the dungeon floor, but there's still some sigils we're putting on the walls. After the amount of times we've had to summon Crowley or something equal in power- if not equal in douchebag levels- we've got this down to a science. Sam's got the Latin, Cas makes the sigils, and I dump shit from bowls into one big bowl. Well, usually I do. But this spell needs the caster's blood, and after last week neither Sam nor Cas seem too keen on letting me slice my arm open for the good of the order. So Sam's in charge of making the actual spell this time. And I'm left to either sit in the corner or follow Cas around pretending to help, feeling useless as ever. Hopefully things get better after today. I'm not gonna pray about it, though.

"Are you feeling any better?" Cas mutters, spray paint hissing out of the can he's holding like steam from an engine.

"I don't know. I will when he's gone, I guess."

"We could always lock him up somewhere in the bunker until we have a way to fix all this."

It's tempting. But the idea of what Dad would be like after we start treating him like a prisoner is even more threatening than the idea of Dad here. "It's not worth it. He's only going to be here for a few more days, anyway."

"Spell's ready," Sam calls from the middle of the room. "Are you two?"

"Fuck yes," I say, walking to stand next to him.

And then Dad walks in.

"Morning," he mutters, pulling up a chair and sitting outside the trap, towards the corner of the room. Even Sam looks scared. And I can't blame him after what he said last night. I'd be terrified if I'd ranted at someone like Dad for that long. But he doesn't say anything. Just glares at both of us for a few seconds before opening the file he's holding and sitting down.

"Right," Sam sighs, before launching into a complicated string of Latin that I recognize half of and understand none of.

The ingredients in the bowl go up in smoke, and when it clears there he is, with his stupid hair and his impeccable suit and a blood-covered knife in his hand. The king of Hell. Shit.

"Did we catch you at a bad time?" I ask, nodding towards the knife.

"It's always a bad time when it involves the Winchesters," Crowley replies cooly.

"Oh, come on, I thought we were friends now."

I hear Dad grunt in the corner. Apparently, so does Crowley. "Ah, the infamous John Winchester."

"You're really the king of Hell?" Dad asks, incredulous.

"In the flesh."

"You seem kind of short for a job like that. And kind of British."

"I'm Scottish, actually, but the accent comes with the vessel. As does the height. Now, can someone tell me why I was pulled away from a nice, quiet murder to talk to my least favorite human, his brother, and his-"

"We didn't summon you for banter," Cas cuts in before Crowley can finish the sentence. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Someone put a curse on us, and we can't go more than five hundred feet away from each other. Also, John is back from the dead, which is really only a good thing for him. So either you help us, or you help us find Rowena, or we kill you."

"Nice try, but if I had a nickel for every time one of you stooges has threatened my life, I'd have enough to buy the loyalty of everyone who doubts me in Hell. For the mathematically challenged in the room, that translates to quite a few nickels." He glances pointedly at me. "And why is being confined to a five hundred foot radius a bad thing? I'd think you and Castiel would have a field day."

"Enough," I say, hoping Dad will take the last comment as a joke. "Will you help us or not?"

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. "I don't want to be killed, now do I?"

"I don't know." Sam picks up the angel blade lying on the table next to him. "The way you're talking, you do seem to have a deathwish."

"Moose. You know that toothpick can't kill me. I'll help you, though. It's about time I had you three owing me a favor again. I know for a fact that this curse wasn't from anyone in Hell, except maybe Lucifer."

Sam's hand twitches at his side. It's a nervous habit. He's had it since he was in middle school.

"It's more likely someone in Heaven. I'll have some people look into it."

"So you'll find the angel we need to kill," Cas translates gruffly.

"If it's an angel. Souls in Heaven have more power than you'd think."

"Crowley. I spent millennia working for Heaven. I know exactly how much power souls there have, and in almost every case it isn't enough for something like this."

"Key word, _almost_. But I'll stop by in a few days. If I can't get any information, Rowena is currently hiding in Siberia. It won't be hard to summon her, either. Can I please get back to killing now?"

Sam glances at me, waiting for the okay. I wish I could keep him here until he solves all this, today, not in a few days, but there's not much we can do. I nod at Sam and clench my teeth. It's going to be a long couple days. He glares at Crowley and walks around to the edge of the Devil's Trap, kicking away the small piece of metal we cut out in case we ever needed to break the trap. And Sam still wonders how I got out when I was a demon. Crowley gives us a sarcastic grin and steps out. "Cheerio," he says with a wave.

"Wait," Dad says from the corner. I brace myself.

"I'd really rather not," Crowley shoots back.

"How do we know you didn't cast the curse?"

"I just explained. The only people who know how to do a thing like this are the folks up in Heaven."

"You could be lying."

Now he seems defensive. I've never actually seen him this defensive. It's kind of funny. "I'm not lying. Squirrel, tell him I'm not lying."

"I seriously doubt he's lying," I say.

"Precisely. Goodbye."

Before Dad can protest again, Crowley's gone. Thank god. Talking to him always makes me twice as exhausted as I usually am. I put the Devil's Trap back together and start to clean up the extra ingredients. It's a few minutes before I notice Dad's glaring at me. Not the average, _I hate your guts for existing_ glare either. He's looking at me like I actually did something wrong. I can't think of what, which was usually the case growing up. Is he trying to find a way to blame me for Sam's outburst last night? I wouldn't put that past him. Whatever it is, I can feel my heart racing. I walk over to Cas and hand him a stack of bowls. "I'm gonna go find a John Winchester-free room and stay there," I mutter. "Probably the garage."

"I'll be there in a few minutes," he replies in a low voice. "I love you."

I don't reply. Dad might hear. Instead I walk towards the door. I stop, though, when I hear him talking to Sam.

"We need to talk. Now," he hisses.

"Why?" Sam replies.

"It shouldn't matter. I'm your father."

"Some fucking father you are."

I close my eyes and sigh. It's all good and well when he tells Dad off once, but can he learn to keep his mouth shut every once in a while? As they walk out the dungeon door together, my look out for Sammy instincts override the anxiety I feel building up and I follow them, staying in the hallway while they keep going into the library. I hope this doesn't turn physical. And I hope Cas is here if it does. I don't think I could handle a fight with Dad, but if he makes a move at Sam that's what'll happen. When we were kids I had this whole mentality where he could do whatever he wanted with me, but if he laid a finger on Sam, that was too much. And I grew out of that after we moved in with Bobby, but looking at the two of them, obviously out for blood, it's all coming back. It's like the thing where the guy keeps rolling that rock up a mountain every day. It took me years and years to push that fucking thing uphill, and it was almost at the top, but now that Dad's back all I can do is stand here and watch it roll back down to the bottom.

"How dare you insult me the way you did last night!" Dad half-shouts. I've heard the tone before. He's livid, but he doesn't want the other people in the bunker or the _people in the motel room next to ours_ to know exactly _how_ livid. "I worked my ass off to keep this family together after your mom died. I tried to get revenge because that's what she would have wanted. No one wants their wife's killer running free, Sammy."

"It's Sam," he says darkly.

"I can call you whatever the fuck I want to call you, I'm your father."

I clench my fists and hope I don't get sucked into another flashback. I've heard that line before.

"When you talk to me like that, you betray me, you betray Dean, you betray this family. Because I didn't work as hard as I did to be disrespected like that. Just because you've got half an Ivy League degree and adoption papers from my ex-friend doesn't mean you have any right to say the things you said last night. And as for your brother, well, he is weak. I don't know why you're defending him. How many strong people run away and panic at the drop of a hat? I can't think of any. When I showed up, I thought that maybe he'd have changed a little for the better. Jesus, was I wrong. He can't even sit at a kitchen table without fucking it up."

"What the hell, Dad? You talk about respect and family and then you turn around and say all this shit about Dean. How does that make any sense?"

"Dean's different. He deserves it."

"Oh, and you don't?"

"I raised you two. I worked so you could go to school, and have food, and generally not, you know, _die_. What did Dean do? He disobeyed orders, he screwed everything up, he was always doing something wrong. And has anything changed? No! So I can say whatever the hell I want about your pathetic excuse for a brother. But as for you talking shit about me-"

Suddenly there's a hand on my shoulder. I flinch and spin around, but it's Cas. I don't know who I was expecting it to be.

"You don't have to listen to this," he says.

"I've gotta stay. In case he tries to hurt Sam." My voice cracks. Jesus, am I crying again? No wonder Dad says all that about me. This really is pathetic.

"Sam's six inches taller than your father. I think he can handle himself."

"But I-"

He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me down the hallway, towards the garage. "Maybe you misheard. What I mean was, you're not listening to that anymore. Regardless of if Sam needs your protection or not."

As we turn a corner, I hear the argument raging on: "The worthless goddamn kid couldn't even hold a gun."

"He was five, John."

"What did you just call me?"

Yeah. Maybe Cas is right.

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We end up sitting in the car. At this point I don't even want to, though, because when I look at the backseat all I see is twelve-year-old me curled up against the window, knees to his chest, trying to ignore the onslaught of shouts coming from the driver's seat.

 _"I've got a list of regrets a mile long. But not letting that Wendigo finish you off? That's moving to the top of that list pretty damn fast."_

 _"Yellow-Eyes would've done the world a favor if he'd glued you to the ceiling instead of your mom, you worthless piece of shit."_

 _"You've reached a whole new level of incompetence. You should be grateful to me; I should be treating you so much worse."_

I move even closer to Cas, which I didn't think was physically possible until I do. He's got his arm around my shoulder, and there's a cassette playing with the volume turned down. I'm not paying close enough attention to know which one. We end up here a lot. Sitting in the front seat of the Impala like this, not talking. Long drives when Sam's taking a nap in the backseat. Outside of motel rooms when the cheap carpet and flickering lights bring up too many bad memories. On nights when sleep is a laughable concept, we drive out to a random field, a few miles or a few hours away, and sit like this until the sun starts to rise. And for the first time since the doorbell rang, I feel like I can breathe.

I still feel like shit, though. Because it's a surreal fucking experience to hear Dad talking about me like that to another person- to Sam, of all people- like it's a normal thing. Like it's totally normal to hate me that much, to think I'm worth that little, and anyone who says otherwise is either lying to themselves or delusional. Did he used to talk about me like that to other people, too, or was this just to prove a point? It's uncomfortably easy to picture him saying the exact same shit to a bartender, or another hunter, or the other inmates before one of them stabbed him to death. I can't even imagine what goes through his head.

"What did I do, Cas?" I ask softly, leaning my head into his shoulder.

"Hmmm?"

"He's so convinced I'm worthless that he thinks it's common knowledge. People don't just randomly start hating people that much. So what the fuck did I do?"

"You didn't do anything. I promise. You're not responsible for what he thinks about you. Your mother died, and he needed someone or something to place the blame on, and it's every level of wrong, but it ended up being you. It's not your fault."

"What if it is?"

Cas shifts to look at me full-on. " _Dean_. You were not responsible for your mother's death, and you didn't do anything to deserve the way John treated you, and there is nothing that you've done to provoke the way he feels about you. There isn't even anything about you to hate. Okay?"

"Okay…"

"Tell me that you didn't do anything."

I stare at him for a few seconds. "I didn't do anything."

"Good. Are you feeling better? We should probably get back before things escalate too much."

"Yeah. Yeah, let's go." I take a few deep breaths. That's nice. Breathing deeply like that. Wish I could do that all the time.

"We don't have to right now."

"No, we should."

He leans over and kisses my forehead. "You can do this," he whispers. "Just a few more days."

"Just a few more days," I repeat slowly, opening the door.

Except I can't do this. I really, really can't.

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 **I've gotta start focusing on some stuff for a short story contest, and I've got tech week coming up for a show I'm in, so be prepared for the Return of the Horrifyingly Late Updates. Just thought I'd give you a heads-up this time. But I've got some good things (involving Bobby!1!11!1) coming up.** **Thanks for sticking around through my horribly infrequent posting! And if you're on spring break like I am, have a good one!**


	9. Author's Note

**I'm sorry, I'm discontinuing the story. I have a lot of other writing projects going on and I don't want to be updating and giving you guys sub-par chapters, ya know?**

 **If you want to read stuff from other fandoms, I'll be posting a Carry On fic sometime soon, and I've got a lot of Hamilton stuff on my AO3, TheImpalaClub.**

 **Thanks for being such amazing readers. All the reviews have given me so much confidence as a writer. Thank you all so much :)**


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